Watching
by DracoMaleficium
Summary: Aang sees something rather odd. And cannot bring himself to stop looking./AU in which Jet's still alive and with the Gaang in Western Air Temple. Jetko, one-sided Zukaang.


**A/N: **Jetko and Zukaang thrown into one fic. This is actually my first ever A:TLA fanfiction and I'm pretty pleased with how it turned out.**  
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It is when he is flying among the ruins of the temple at night, admiring the moonlight-washed beauty of their quiet refuge, that Aang sees them for the first time.

He doesn't want to pry and poke his nose into other people's personal affairs; he really doesn't. But he can hear the shouting, the angry roars of two people nearly jumping to each other's throats, and since he recognizes the voices, he simply cannot ignore it and let the two boys tear each other to pieces.

So he lets his glider down stealthily and gently touches ground just behind a pillar, only a few feet away from where Jet and Zuko stand, spitting venom at each other. He is careful not to make his presence known. He can sense that the two need the alone time to settle whatever it is that has obviously been brewing between them ever since Zuko joined their group. Aang simply wants to make sure that no one gets hurt.

So he listens.

But he doesn't understand.

There is something about betrayal. About keeping secrets. About Ba Sing Se, about a teashop. About a ferry. And it shouldn't be that surprising, really, because it's obvious that the two have some kind of history between them that they haven't shared with anyone. Aang tells himself he's not surprised. Nor is he poky. He's just… _intrigued_. And watchful, because the argument seems really serious and he really can't let any of them hurt the other. So he doesn't fly away and just keeps listening, hidden safely behind the pillar and the shadows.

But then he has to keep reminding himself to breathe, because suddenly Zuko rasps something accusingly about _seduction_. And that _is_ surprising. What's even weirder, Jet doesn't contradict him.

Then there are questions. No longer shouted, but whispered, broken, laden with a turmoil that is strange and alien and Aang still doesn't understand.

And then he understands even less, because next comes a silence which is not really a silence, but a series of small, constricted noises, like someone shoving someone else against a stone pillar. There is a rustle of silk. There are groans. And Aang grows afraid. Did they really start fighting? Should he step in and prevent bloodshed?

So he makes a tiny step towards the silvery path of moonlight leading the way to where Jet and Zuko are standing.

When he sees them kissing angrily, groping and grabbing and grinding against each other in heated, primal fury, it is all he can do not to yell his surprise. He gasps instead, chocking back the shock swelling in his throat, and stares.

But he doesn't stare for long. When Zuko's groan suddenly melts into a moan against Jet's aggressive lips, the Avatar is slapped out of the bubble of shock and darts behind the pillar again, gasping for breath and clutching at the comforting wood of his glider, willing for his heart to stop racing, feeling flushed and confused and so very _hot_ all of a sudden.

Before thinking about it, he leaps off the edge of the rocky structure and soars into the night, letting the cool blast of wind against his face blow the image of Jet and Zuko out of his mind.

:::::

He doesn't want to think about it and about how awkward it's going to be to talk to them in the morning, but then the morning comes and it's not only awkward, it's _impossible_. When Zuko shakes him awake to take him to their practice spot, he can't look him in the eyes, cannot even form a coherent sentence. But then they are firebending, and Aang actually finds it in him to steal glances at his companion now and again, _searching_. He's not sure what exactly he is searching for, but then he notices those tiny, telltale signs, like the small bruises on Zuko's shoulders, like the tiny, red mark blossoming on his neck, like the way Zuko's flame is even stronger and broader than normally.

And Jet is watching. Aang can feel his gaze on them, can spot his lone figure lounging against a pile of rocks, the stalk of grass in his mouth. Aang glances at him several times, afraid of catching his eye, but he needn't worry; Jet's eyes never so much as slide over him. They're on Zuko.

And there is something strange in them, Aang can tell. He doesn't know what, but the intensity scares him. So he glances at Zuko instead, and though the prince seems oblivious to Jet's presence, Aang thinks he can feel Jet's eyes on him too, because his muscles twitch and tense ever so slightly with every move and his eyes never waver, as though it's a duel, as though he's defying Jet by saying: _I won't look at you_.

And he doesn't. So Aang watches. And wonders.

::::::

He never tells anyone. He's not sure why, but he just feels like it's not something he should share with the rest of the group. They probably wouldn't take it well and extra emotional strain is the last thing they need right now.

But the strange thing is, there actually seems to be less tension now. Before that night when Aang saw them kissing, being around Jet and Zuko felt like sitting on a barrel of blasting jelly and playing with spark stones – the heat sizzling and nearly electrocuting the air between them _burned_. Now, it felt like all this heat exploded and faded, leaving smoke of this strange _something_ swirling in its wake, and the atmosphere is not nearly so tense, so people can actually breathe.

As far as Aang can tell, nobody's noticed anything strange. Katara, Sokka, Haru and Teo certainly haven't. He's not so sure about The Duke, who's known Jet for a long time and can probably read the Freedom Fighter better than anyone, but then again, The Duke seems to be avoiding Jet nowadays, probably because of their split-up in the forest, so he's most likely not paying attention. Aang wonders about Toph. She doesn't say anything and remains, on the whole, her usual, outspoken self, but sometimes, Aang notices her stealing a silent glance in either Jet's or Zuko's direction. Those are fleeting, tiny moments and they might not mean a thing, but they're enough for Aang to suspect that she too might know. Her feet can see anything, after all, even -

But this is a thought Aang doesn't want to explore, so he focuses on his supper of vegetables roasting over the fire instead.

And he tries very hard not to notice that Jet is sitting right next to Zuko, and that their shoulders are brushing, and that the Freedom Fighter's arm is slowly snaking around Zuko, disappearing from view.

::::::

The second time Aang witnesses something he shouldn't witness is when they're all lying on the stone floor of the Temple, sleeping bags scattered around the dying fire, the moon crescent casting a faint, silvery glow on the ruins and deepening the shadows. Aang can feel sleep slowly sticking his eyelids together; can already taste the dreams drifting towards him, lifting his body in a weightless float, with the steady breathing of his comrades fading gradually into a wall of soft noises lulling him to sleep.

But then he can hear something else, a sharp discord in the soothing sonata of the night, and suddenly he's not at all sleepy anymore.

Sleeping bags are rustling. Someone is stealing through the feebly-lit gloom, carefully avoiding bumping into other sleepers, his footsteps merely a whisper above the ground. And then a voice, _Zuko's_ voice, quiet and raspy and unreadable, mutters:

"We shouldn't be doing this. I shouldn't be letting you."

And another voice, deeper, determined. Almost angry.

"Kick me out, then."

A hateful hiss. "Fuck you."

When Jet answers, Aang can practically _hear_ him smirk that crooked smirk of his. "I thought so."

More rustling, louder, more urgent. On impulse, Aang squeezes his eyes shut and clutches to his own sleeping bag, trying to bury his face in it and block out the sounds. But he can't. In the dead still of the night, among the silent, ancient ruins, those tiny noises floating his way from Zuko's sleeping bag sound like a series of fireblasts, shaking the stony foundations. Aang's face feels like it's on fire. There is no escape now, nowhere to run. There is nothing he can do to stop this. All he can do it lie here, frozen in place, and _listen_.

But after a short while, when heavy breathing morphs into panting, when small whimpers and grunts morph into gasps and chocked-back moans, he can't help himself. His head lifts itself of its own accord, it seems. His eyes peek just a tad from the hem of his sleeping bag in the direction of the voices and what he actually sees there, silhouetted against the darkness, in the flickering light of the fire mingled with the moonbeams, makes him freeze again.

He does not look away.

Instead, he watches as Jet moves inside of Zuko's sleeping bag, tearing it open. He watches as Jet's hands tangle in Zuko's raven-black hair and clutch at them, stilling his head in place. He watches as Zuko's white arms snake around Jet's neck, bringing him down. He watches as their mouths move against each other, and it is less of a kiss and more of a dirty battle, forceful, needy, enraptured. And he still watches as Jet's lips finally break away from Zuko's and travel down the prince's jaw, his chin, his good ear, and then his neck, and Zuko arches into him, leaning back and giving him better access, and Jet leaves a wet trail as his mouth explores the expanse of white skin and his hand travels down Zuko's robe, undoing it and brushing it aside.

Aang watches and suddenly finds himself wondering what Zuko's skin tastes like.

The thought lingers in his head when he continues watching, unable to tear his eyes away, as Jet nibs and licks at a spot near Zuko's ear and Zuko actually _moans_, turning his head abruptly to bury the sound in his pillow. Aang sees his face, his blazing eyes, his flushed cheeks, the hunger and the need, the sweat trickling down his forehead. He sees it all and suddenly, he is thinking about the sensations which release all of that in him, and he wonders what it feels like. What it feels like for Zuko to be touched like that. What it feels like for Jet to be touching Zuko.

He is still watching when Jet's hand reaches lower, under the covers and under Zuko's tunic and Zuko's hands are doing the same. He knows he shouldn't, but he can't help it. It's as though his eyes were glued to the two moving figures and he cannot look away now anymore than he can stop breathing.

And all this time, he keeps wondering.

The thoughts don't leave him long after the two boys are finished and Jet is back into his own sleeping bag, and the steady, rhythmical breathing of the two joins the night-time harmony. Aang keeps his eyes on Zuko, on his sleeping face, on his closed eyes, on his slightly-parted mouth, on the elegant curve of his neck. He watches. And keeps wondering.

He's suddenly curious what Zuko's mouth would taste like.

::::::

Aang knows about sex. Or, at least, he thinks he knows _something_. The monks never told him much, but they never kept it a secret. The older boys had classes on what they called "baby-making" and would sometimes share some of the particularly interesting details with the younger novices. Not that Aang would be a part of those discussions. By the time he reached the appropriate age, he was already declared the new Avatar and singled out from most of the common activities, and the Avatar training left precious little time for anything else. Gyatso would have probably talked to him about it freely enough had he only asked, but somehow, it had never crossed Aang's mind.

But he knows enough. Enough, at least, to recognize it when it is happening right in front of his eyes. And to hesitantly define his own reactions to it, which are more than unsettling.

He's not sure how he feels about two men doing it together. He's never heard that it was even possible. Even more importantly, he's not sure how he feels about _Zuko_ doing it with _Jet_. But it is not his business, so he refuses to think more about it than is inevitable – theoretically, at least. And he's _certainly_ not thinking about it when they are practicing firebending again, and Zuko is moving right next to him, his stanzas graceful and assured, his muscles exposed and radiating heat. Aang is certainly _not_ picturing Jet's lips on Zuko's as he is talking to him, nor is he remembering the noises Zuko made when Jet licked that one spot on his neck, and he is _definitely_ not thinking about his own lips traveling down Jet's trail -

Only he is, and it is devastating.

But that's only because he's curious, he keeps telling himself. It's something new and exotic, after all. Something he doesn't understand. And he _wants_ to understand. He wants to learn.

It's purely because of that that he follows them one night, when Zuko is the first to leave their spot by the fire and Jet follows him, Aang excuses himself too on the pretence that he needs to go to the bathroom. It's not because he's nosy. He's _not_. He just wants to learn.

So he seeks the two boys out and finds them pressed against each other on the floor in one of the dark, dilapidated corridors, panting, kissing, limbs intertwined and locked with one another, already half-undressed, making love right there among the ruins. It's raw and primal and aggressive and lustful. But it's also strangely tender, in a way Aang doesn't quite get but which makes something in his stomach skip and flutter and something in his throat constrict.

It is beautiful.

Aang can't chase the image out of his head when he goes to sleep, and when he dreams, it is of white limbs and red lips and black hair and golden eyes all locked with a dark, shadowy figure.

And he's not so sure that the shadowy figure is Jet.

:::::

It is a week afterwards that Aang quietly steals out of his sleeping bag and tiptoes over to Zuko, careful not to wake anyone. He kneels over the prince's sleeping form and tries to make out his features in the darkness, and after a while, Zuko's face becomes visible as Aang's eyes adjust to the gloom.

He doesn't see Jet lying right next to Zuko, his arm draped leisurely around the firebender's chest, and he fails to notice him stirring as he lowers his lips hesitantly over Zuko's. He doesn't close his eyes when he presses their mouths together ever so slightly – he's too terrified. He pulls back almost as soon as he touches Zuko's lips. But the brief contact is enough to nearly scald him.

And then he finally sees that Jet is propping himself up on his elbow, watching him intently, his eyes dark and impossible to read.

"Beautiful, isn't he?" Jet whispers, and all Aang can do is nod, petrified and completely floored as he is by this sudden turn of events.

"Yeah," the boy manages to whisper through the lump in his throat. "Err. Sorry. I only wanted to -"

Jet puts a finger to his lips, his other hand casually brushing a strand of hair out of Zuko's face. "It's okay," he whispers. "I understand. You know about us, you've seen some weird stuff, you're young and you're curious. Right?"

Once again, Aang simply nods. He wants to ask how Jet knows about him knowing, but cannot bring himself to. He has no idea what to say.

"Do you want me to –" Jet indicated the air around him and Zuko, "—explain? Tell you about us? You deserve as much, I guess, for all the emotional scarring we've probably given you."

Aang swallows. "Yeah. But, you know. Maybe another time."

Jet nods. And then he lies back down next to Zuko, fingers still entwined in the other boy's hair. Tenderly, affectionately. _Possessively_. Eyes never leaving Aang. Sending a clear message.

_You've tried it. You've learned. Now leave_.

So Aang leaves. And when he goes to sleep, he tries to erase the taste of Zuko from his lips and concentrates on Katara instead, struggling to feel as curious about kissing and touching _her_ as he was about kissing and touching Zuko.

After a while, it works.

Almost.


End file.
